


Witchers Get Tired of Topping Too Sometimes

by thatgaywizard



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal, Bottom Geralt, Bottom!Geralt, I don't know if I can even call him a top in this, M/M, PWP, Smut, Top-I-can't-believe-my-luck-Jaskier, everything smells like lavender as always in slash, juicy man pecs, just a willing pawn, post-potion!geralt, top!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgaywizard/pseuds/thatgaywizard
Summary: He has never even dared to fantasize about Geralt like this, not until they were literally in this bed tonight. If this is the last and only thing in his entire life that’s given to him it’ll be more than enough to let Jaskier die with satisfaction….
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, geraskier - Relationship
Comments: 20
Kudos: 542





	Witchers Get Tired of Topping Too Sometimes

“Come on, Jask… _I’m tired_.” He tilts his head just so, his eyes rolling languidly to the side as his head falls back further into the pillow. His voice is thick as syrup and heavy with a note of pleading. The sound of it alone warms Jaskier from the inside out. He knows he’s going to give his companion whatever he wants already but he can at least pretend he’s got restraint.

The room is warm and quiet, the sun is falling and the evening growing thick outside the window. The witcher looks like some sort of wild king reclining there on the humbly furnished bed. He sinks further into the bedding, a soft rumbling _mmm_ comes from his throat. He obviously bathed just before Jaskier came back to their room and he’s only in his soft breeches and shirt.

The bard looks down at him with put upon skepticism. “And what did you do today that was _soo_ hard? I’ve been at the Seven Cats Inn all day busking…wait-" Jaskier looks at the fresh cut on his arm, looks at his armor with mud on it strewn on the chair, “did you go on a hunt today?”

“This afternoon. Man in cart stopped me on the road outside town. He’d lost his wares in a ditch, had some trouble. A hag, namely.” The witcher closes his eyes restfully. “Took awhile to find her.”

Jaskier’s shoulders relax. His face softens. “I didn’t know. Well, you didn’t tell me so how could I? Alright _, okay,”_ he sighs. “I’ll get dinner- and _yes_ I’ll go check on Roach.”

“What would I do without you?” Geralt purrs at him. Teasing. Jaskier can’t handle Geralt’s teasing. The teasing is somewhat new. It was serious at first, he thinks? The comments and insults that became playful, became _suggestive_. Now Geralt could flatter him jokingly and Jaskier would still roll over for the witcher without hesitation. Geralt doesn’t look all that tired as he raises his arms and rests the back of his head in his hands, the pose accentuating his biceps ridiculously.

Jaskier can hardly look straight at him.

He transforms his lustful gaze into a harmless glare before the witcher can see it and goes out the door.

When he returns Geralt is where he left him, eyes shut, chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm. He sets down the tray of food he’s scavenged and goes to Geralt’s side. He sings the witcher’s name quietly as he leans over the bed.

And Geralt opens his eyes. They stare at one another before he reaches for Jaskier, grabbing his shirt and pulling him so that Jaskier has to put his hands on the bed in order not to fall on top of him.

“Hungry?”

” _Yes,_ ” the witicher’s voice is a seductive growl slipping through his sly smile.

“ _Hmm_ ," Jaskier says in a vague impersonation of the man he’s come to know without words.

When Geralt tilts his head back Jaskier takes what is being offered, lips brushing against lips just lightly, not giving too much. Then he’s standing up straight, taking a piece of fruit off the tray, sucking it into his mouth even as he watches Geralt sit up and peel off his shirt like he’s unavailing a statue, his muscles flexing and elongating as he drags the material up over his head, down off his arms…

Jaskier drinks him in, skin pale but glowing warmly in the candlelight, watches as Geralt hesitates before leaning back to unlace his pants.

“Perhaps the food can wait…”Jaskier says sauntering to the table near the bathing tub. While turned away from Geralt, he reaches around to the ties at his lower back, pulls them free with practiced fingers and the back of his pants come loose, exposing skin beneath the patterned silk fabric as he pulls his shirt out of the waist of them. The pants all but drop to the floor. He hears Geralt make an appreciative sound and he looks over his shoulder to simper at him.

The scent of lavender, and crushed herbs- and something almost spicy, escapes as he unscrews the cap on a jar he’s taken from the table. His careful fingers find their way into the oil. He crawls onto the bed with the witcher…puts the jar aside…

his hands reach for Geralt’s pecs first. Geralt watches him unblinking with hot embers in his eyes. Jaskier’s long daring fingers splay across the broad chest in front of him, oil coating their skin, he drags them down pressing into the firm flesh, feeling the rise of scar tissue beneath his fingers tips and the brush of hair as they slide all the way down the firm stomach. And he guides them up again over the curvature of Geralt’s sides, ribs beneath muscle, muscle beneath skin, skin hot beneath Jaskier’s touch…

Geralt arches just a bit into those hands, thumbs brush his nipples, press into the tender places beneath his collar bones. He reaches for Jaskier’s bare thighs, the bard is straddling him but not sitting on him and his shirt hangs down between his legs hiding everything there, but not very well. The shape of his cock juts through the cotton fabric.

Geralt’s pants are off almost to the knee. Jaskier wipes his hands on Geralt’s thighs leaving the excess oil there before he grabs his shirt gingerly with fingertips to avoid staining it and pulls it over his head letting it fall away somewhere half off the bed, and then he takes Geralt’s breaches and pulls them down, down, down, until they are lying on the floor. Until they are both naked but for a medallion, a set of gold rings, and one earring.

Geralt’s cock commands Jaskier’s attention now where it lays thick and ruddy against his stomach. He goes down until their bodies are pressed one to one.

And Geralt groans in gratitude. “So good…” he mumbles, his hands finding Jaskier’s back.

“ _Yes_ …”

The aches and the weariness all melt away into hazy pleasure and heat.

“I think I’ll let you do the work tonight,” the witcher says with a smile and half lidded eyes as Jaskier writhes against him, trying to somehow feel every inch of his body with every inch of his own, legs tangled, thighs and calves caressing.

“Work, you say? If you mean what I think you do it won’t be a very difficult job to preform.”

Geralt smiles at him and the smile doesn’t go away until they kiss. And they kiss slowly, in rhythm together, everything smelling like herbs and lavender and hot skin.

Geralt’s movements are unhurried tonight, his hands don’t wander overmuch, but he keeps a firm hold on Jaskier’s hips, squeezing softly, holding him down firmly in place as if he might slip away and escape. Sometimes they wander over to clutch at the roundness of his buttocks, fingers digging into soft thick muscle.

Jaskier has a feeling it was a potion imbibed earlier that’s subdued his witcher, his strength and energy accelerated in the frenzy of battle, now ebbed away leaving him slow and languorous like some large restful panther after having vanquished it’s prey- but Jaskier feels now that the prey might be him, fallen to the witcher’s lethal grasp by much more subtle means…

Geralt’s thighs part trapping Jaskier between them and Jaskier’s cock twitches against the crook of Geralt’s hip. The witcher is looking at him with something like expectation-so Jaskier grabs the oil again and this time his slick careful fingers wrap around the other man’s cock, pumping it’s length with long intentional strokes. He works a relieved moan out of the witcher. He bites his chest. He tugs at Geralt’s nipples with his hot mouth. He’s thankful that Geralt enjoys it when he does these things because he doesn’t know if he could ignore this part of his body if he wanted to. He’s encountered many a buxom woman but never a man with a chest so broad, so plush, with muscles that swells like this, giving him so much to grab and taste and suck.

The stubble of Geralt’s jaw is sharp on his tongue. Geralt’s legs tighten against him and force him closer, his hands grabbing Jaskier’s ass to pull him in, coaxing, _demanding_. And it’s Geralt’s turn to grab the oil and slather it on Jaskier’s rigid shaft. Jaskier shudders as his whole body convulses, he’s forced to pull away from the witcher’s hand holding him tight like the hilt of his sword. He doesn’t wanting to lose himself too quickly with what’s about to come. He nestles down further and his cock finds it’s way instinctively to the heat between them. He feels Geralt’s sack against his shaft heavy and warm and he presses further behind the weighty flesh of his balls, smearing oil along the way. And when he finally brushes the ring of muscle within all this heat and soft flesh Geralt moans behind closed lips. Jaskier strokes him as he continues to prod and rub with his hard cock, now leaking and sticky, adding to the slickness.

Soon Geralt is breathing hard, lips parted, pupils dilated his eyes are locked on Jaskier as Jaskier uses every drop of self control just to do what he’s doing. The head of his cock is barely breaching the tight ring of muscle that’s threatening to devour him but he can feel Geralt’s body giving way to him even more, opening up to his cock hungrily-

he’s never been allowed to have something like _this._ It’s all he can do not to let himself slip into him now and burst like a dam in a tight waterway. “Gods…it’s torture," he gasps. “ _Geralt_...”

“Mmm, yes that’s good…slow…" Geralt urges him but even while he’s saying _slow_ he’s forcing Jaskier deeper- gripping the bard’s hips and pulling him further…

Jaskier has to drop his head to Geralt’s chest as he feels the head of his cock fully slip into that hot ring, and he bites his own lip. It’s just the head and Geralt’s fingers are like a steel vice on his hips, keeping him from going deeper or pulling away. He cries out absolutely senseless. _It’s not fair._

Geralt is grabbing his own shaft with one hand, still gripping Jaskier with the other, he strokes it as Jaskier is trapped unable to thrust.

“Please, Geralt…pleeease…” he wraps his arm under one of Geralt’s muscular thighs.

And Geralt _finally_ releases him and his hips move of their own accord.

“Slow…slowly,” Geralt pants softly. “... _Yes,_ that's it.” His head falls back against the pillows, yellow eyes closing. “ _Uhn- Jaskier..._ ”

Jaskier’s thighs are quivering as he urges his cock into Geralt as slowly as he can manage. Geralt doesn’t seem a stranger to this kind of pleasure. He wants to ask if anyone has ever done this to him. He wants to know, but he can’t speak and wouldn’t try if right now if he could.

It’s been forever since he’s fucked another man like this and he’d never even _dared_ to fantasize about Geralt _like this_ , not until they were literally in this bed tonight. If this is the last and only thing in his entire life that’s given to him it’ll be more than enough to let Jaskier die with satisfaction.

-which is a lie of course. Tomorrow he’ll want more and he’ll want it even more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life but in this moment- this moment is all that exists.

 _“Fuck me_ ,” Geralt urges.

And Jaskier has to close his eyes and think of the most disgusting monster he can possibly conjure in order not to cum right then. He breathes deep and steady and sits back. He holds onto Geralt and fucks him as much as he can without losing control. It’s an impossible task because he can see Geralt’s fingers wrapped around his own cock moving in time to Jaskier’s thrusts, and he’s making sounds that Jaskier hasn’t heard before…

There have been similar noises but not the same. These moans are unbound, indulgent, _aching_. These moans are light in his throat. They aren’t the deep grunting moans of him fucking Jaskier so hard that his soul takes leave of his body.

These are different.

Geralt’s brow is furrowed and his expression is almost pained but his mouth is open in silent pleasure as he stares at the bard and Jaskier’s expression must be similar he thinks. He knows his own mouth is open and he can’t fucking close it because he’s too far gone.

He doesn’t know if he can handle it and he he finds words tumbling out, breathless and mindless- “Geralt, hit me. Slap me. I can’t take it- Geralt, _please._ ”

And Geralt does as he's asked, but not too hard. Stinging heat flares across Jaskier's pretty face and it helps for a second, the shock enough to let him fuck Geralt faster, but the second time Geralt does it the feelings seems to shoot straight to his cock and Jaskier has to stop completely, tighten his abs, and blow out a breath as he holds back his orgasm.

And then Geralt pushes him off and suddenly turns over on his own stomach. Jaskier is dizzy and incoherent, and unable to even appreciate how incredible Geralt’s perfect ass looks before he’s fucking him again- before he can even register what happened. And he knows he’s fucking a good spot now because the witcher starts cursing. Maybe it’s only minutes or seconds later but it feels like he has been lost for hours when Geralt tells him he’s _going to come._

“ _Please,_ ” Jaskier begs needing Geralt to come so Jaskier can finally stop holding back. He wants it to end but he doesn't want to stop... He uses his last shred of will power to fuck Geralt hard until the man is shaking and his muscles are clenching around him and he can tell Geralt’s over the edge. Jaskier’s vision goes white as he releases inside Geralt with a whimper and moan.

And slowly but suddenly times resumes. Geralt stretches out with a groan on his stomach and doesn’t move. Jaskier very slowly pulls his cock out from between the sticky muscular cheeks with a shudder, and then he lays on top of Geralt.

After he’s caught his breath he says deliriously, “What just happened?”

Geralt’s chuckle is smothered by the bed.

“Wow.” Jaskier sidles over and grabs a pillow for his head. “Can we do that again sometime?” He says perversely with the enthusiasm of a youth.

Geralt slowly raises himself to look at the bard. His smile is tired and satisfied. He lets out a heavy breath as he adjusts himself so that he’s on his side with the pillow under his head. “We’ll see, but first” he lets his hands flop over towards Jaskier. It’s covered in his own sticky seed and Jaskier is almost tempted to lick it. He gets them a cloth and and when they’ve cleaned themselves and the bed as best as possible they lie back down close together in a lazy tangle.

Geralt puts a heavy arm across the bard's chest and is soon fast asleep.

Jaskier has so many questions and feelings but they’ll have to wait until another time because it isn’t long after he’s dragged the covers across them that he can tell Geralt is out for good, and soon he slowly contentedly drifts off to sleep along with his witcher.


End file.
